Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/45

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TROOPS to our England true
Faring to Flanders,
God be with all of you
And your commanders.

Clear be the sky o'erhead,
Light be the landing:
Not till the work is sped
Be your disbanding.

On the old battle-ground
Where fought your fathers,
Faithful shall ye be found
When the storm gathers.

Fending a little friend
Weak but unshaken—
Quick! there's no time to spend
Or the fort's taken.

Though he defy his foes,
He may go under.
Quick! ere the battle close
Speed with your thunder.

He hath his all at stake:
More can have no man.
Quick! ere the barrier break,
On to the foeman.

Troops to this England true
And your commanders,
God be with all of you
Fighting in Flanders.